Chapter Text
Vander can’t get that moment out of his head.
It was rushed, probably not even intentional- but he can’t stop thinking about it.
He remembers Silco’s body shaking under his hands, the way his legs were barely holding up and he was leaning heavily against Vander as they were both trying to catch their breath. The rain hasn’t stopped. It flooded the whole Undercity, carrying trash and waste down alleyways, pooling in every corner and slipping under ill-fitting doors – and the sound, it was deafening, hammering against sheet metal, drowning anything in a dizzying haze of reflected neon. Their clothes were drenched, clinging to their skins, making the cold all the more biting despite the adrenaline still buzzing through his body. Vander brushes wet strands of hair away from his face, but no matter how many times he blinks his vision stays blurry, he isn’t quite sure what is rain and what is tears by this point – but it was precisely what made the enforcer lose their tracks so easily, so he is not complaining.
“You okay?” he whispered, voice barely rising above the sound of the pounding rain.
The answer came through the form of a hum, echoing through both their chests, and Vander really thinks it should not have affected him the way it did. He loosened his hold a bit, pulling away from Silco to catch a glimpse of his face. His lip had been split in the initial scuffle before they had taken off running, so blood was trailing down his chin, mixing with rainwater, smeared over his pale skin.
He grinned nonetheless.
“We made it out, didn’t we?”
“We nearly fucking died,” Vander argued. “And you got shot!”
This too, he couldn’t get out of his head; the gunshots, so loud it made his ears ring, and when he looked over his shoulder… how it was only to see his friend tumbling to the ground, the way he didn’t quite manage to break his fall and the hint of red mixing with the puddles. For a short agonizing second, before Silco scrambled back to his feet, he had thought it would be the end.
“Oh, that.”
Silco was rolling his eyes, then stifled a wince as Vander pressed his palm to his outer thigh.
“It barely grazed me,” he argues, swatting his hand away. “Stop being dramatic.”
Vander stepped back, hitting the brick wall behind, and Silco was suddenly back in his space, thin arms on each side of his body, looking up at him through the rain.
“I’m fine,” he reiterated, voice firm. “We are both fine.”
“I just don’t fucking want to lose you.”
Silco trailed his fingers over his biceps, touch so light he could barely feel it with the sheen of rainwater.
“I don’t wanna die either, if that can reassure you, hum?”
“I’m serious there!”
He grabbed Silco by the back of his neck without thinking. He could feel his pulse, heart rate picking up- then Silco let out this breathy kind of laugh, his body melting back into his friend’s – really just the kickback of the adrenaline rush –, and that was when Vander motioned to press their foreheads together. He wanted to breathe the same air for a short while, rejoice in the fact that he could still feel Silco’s body warmth under his palms and- and as they clung onto one another, there were his lips against his, teeth clanking and the overpowering taste of blood, a quick and sloppy kiss before Vander’s grip on his nape relented and Silco pulled away.
He didn’t know what to do, what to say, didn’t even know if it was an accident or not, though Silco was still pressed against him – he wasn’t sure when but he has closed his arms around him again, one palm flat between his shoulder blades, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath.
And now, his mind can’t move on, instead it keeps replaying the moment over and over again, wondering ifs and whats – and the fact that right now Silco is dressed for work, low-rise leather pants and a top that barely covers the bottom of his ribcage, certainly does not help with that. They are in the brothel; Vander came to talk to one of the other workers, but Silco was free so they ended up in the room he uses, Vander sitting on the only chair – carefully avoiding even eyeing the bed – while his friend perched onto the drawer. Currently, he’s looking out of the window, half-obscured by red flowy curtains, and Vander is taking the chance to stare at him.
The cut over his lip is well on its way to heal, just a thin red line that his tongue regularly peeks out to lick at, but Vander can still make out the outline of the bandages around his thigh with how tight the pants are – because the bullet did leave a bloody trail behind, one inch to the left and his leg would have been rendered useless. That they both make it out alive and relatively unscathed had to be a fucking miracle.
He says it out loud, and Silco chuckles. He jumps down from the drawer, walking to him – and Vander isn’t sure if it’s from the injury or just how it looks with such tight clothes, but the slight swaying of his hips almost distracts him enough that he doesn’t hear him start speaking:
“I don’t believe in miracles. What I do believe in, though, is what these hands can do.” There is the lightest brush of his fingers against Vander’s own. “Like when we met, big guy…”
“I… remember that.”
“Thanks for saving me again.”
Silco has both his hands on the chair armrests now, leaning over Vander, gaze only made more intense by the dark make-up. Magnetic.
“What would I do without you, hum?” he muses, biting his lip to stifle a smile.
“Ah, you… you get around just fine on your own, Sil.”
Silco straightens back up, still not breaking eye contact. There is a look on his face, in his half-lidded eyes, that Vander can’t quite place, but he can’t stop staring either way.
“Hum. Guess I do.” He presses his foot to his calf, inches a bit higher before letting it drop again. “But it’s better with you.”
“It’s, uh… better with you too. I…”
Silco laughs again, and it sounds a little mocking, a little mean this time.
“At a loss for words, now, are we? Is it me that’s having this effect on you?”
He stares down at him for a few more seconds, then a Vander doesn’t say anything, he turns around with a scoff.
“Sil…”
“Yes?”
But he can’t say that, can he? Can’t tell his friend what he’s truly doing to him – can’t tell him that the seam of his pants presses awkwardly onto a part of his body he’s trying very hard to ignore right now. He doesn’t quite meet Silco’s gaze, doesn’t want to look away either, and each time his eyes drop down he is met with the sight of Silco’s lower torso, exposed by the short top and the tight pants hanging low on his lips.
He knows what the outfit is for, though; just that, eliciting desire. He has always found Silco pretty, sure – and to hell those who don’t see it – but he also knows the way it all has taken a sharp turn towards attractiveness recently is out of necessity, not by choice. But the flirting…? Was that even flirting, though? And how much of it only stems from habit?
He has no definitive answer – so, no. He can’t say that. Can’t risk Silco thinking he’s just another one of these people, those who only see the body, the sex worker, the prize.
He can’t risk their friendship.
He stands up in the small room, walks to the drawer to get a glass of water, give his hands something to hold onto, anything, and when he turns back his friend moves at the same time. He freezes.
They are close- so damn close. Silco’s breath ghosts over his skin, and he would swear he feels the heat coming from his body, barely an inch away. One of his hands slips off the drawer, brushes against his friend’s side, exposed there by the short top. It feels electrifying. He struggles to swallow past the sudden dryness in his throat, looking down- their eyes meet and his brain must have stopped working for a second because next thing he knows, his hand is back over Silco’s hip and he’s leaning in for a kiss.
Silco lets him, even following with a quick slip of his tongue over his bottom lip as he pulls away.
Then- as he opens his eyes, he’s reminded of where exactly there are – the walls painted a deep red, lamp and outside light dimed by crimson flowy fabric, the strong smell of incense, the giant mirror on the side and the bed barely a step away. Vander flushes red in embarrassment and he backs down, hands shooting up as he stumbles over an apology-
Silco’s fingers wrap around his wrists and tug him back closer.
“Where are you going, um?” he asks – the way he drawls his words more alluring than it has the right to be.
“I’m- uh, I…”
Silco stands on tip-toes, brushing a kiss over his jaw, and Vander has completely lost the ability to form words by now.
“I don’t let clients touch me before they pay, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He doesn’t give him the chance to speak, softly pressing their lips together again. Vander’s nails dig slightly into his skin and Silco grins into the kiss, both hands over Vander’s shoulders as he tries to keep his balance. They are both breathless when they part.
“Took you long enough, big guy.”
“I-” His brain finally catches on. “Wait. For how long have you…?”
“Been waiting for? A few months, by now. Well, if we consider that my feelings for you were… purely platonic, back when we were kids. Otherwise, hum. A few years?”
“… What?”
Silco sighs loudly.
“You’re even denser than I thought.”
“Wh- why didn’t you say anything?!”
“I thought you… Hmm. It’s complicated.”
Vander has half a mind to press on further, before slender hands drop from his shoulders to his chest, and he can feel his nipples hardening from just this simple touch. The thin fabric of his shirt does nothing to hide it. Silco smirks.
“Oh, do I-”
They are interrupted by the clock striking the hour. Silco looks towards the door, counting silently, then his eyes snap back to Vander’s face, alight with something he dares not quite try to name.
“End of my shift”, Silco says. “Now… what about my place?”